Perspective
by Z. Vorobyov
Summary: This is a series of first-person accounts from several of the Supernatural characters. Each chapter reveals another piece of the story, but from a different character's point of view. It's a common story arc: There's a powerful enemy and the boys and their friends must find a way to defeat it. This enemy is similar to the Leviathan; an Apocalyptic outcome is certainly in store.
1. Sam and Dean

"So—just to recap—we're up against something with no origin, name, or weakness." He took a deep breath and sat down in the chair across from me. "Awesome."

"Basically, yeah." I folded my hands, rested my chin on my knuckles, and stared at the laptop's screen. There were a dozen windows open, some of them showed bits of ancient texts and others were more recent documents. I'd found a pattern and traced it back as far as I could, but what little trail there was revealed nothing definitive about the creature we'd stumbled across. Everything about it was vague. Crossover members of the conspiracy theorist and supernatural camps were linking it to everything from Hiroshima to the Black Plague. Seriously. How was a guy supposed to get any legitimate research done?

He reached over and pulled the laptop to him. "Okay. What _do_ we know?"

I rattled off the short list of concrete nothing that I had. "Witnesses report seeing a fuzzy shadow with no real shape. More like a dark haze, I guess. It appears one to three days before a catastrophe, but not during. The earliest mention I can find is on an alleged Sumerian tablet. If we're lucky, it might give us a name."

"Wait, wait." He stopped me before I could get any further. "Alleged?"

"Well, back in 1914, an article was published about a Sumerian tablet that told the story of a great flood brought on by the gods. Trouble is, it wasn't an entire tablet. So, there were chunks of the story missing. I found this guy who…uh…" I hesitated. He wasn't going to like this. It was like a priest taking a book of Grimm's fairytales to the Vatican and claiming it was Gospel. For all I knew, that's exactly what I was doing.

He stared at me expectantly and pushed, "A guy who what, man? Spit it out."

I started talking, fast. "He claims he's found one of the missing pieces. In it, there's a reference to _etutu mah zini-ak_. It means something like 'great darkness of the spirit of the wind.' According to the fragment, this darkness covered the earth for three days before the flood. I've been trying to find more information on Sume—"

"Hold it." He signaled for a timeout. "This find hasn't been verified?"

A grimace flashed across my face as I shook my head.

"Does he have any credentials of any kind?"

I shook my head again, but added, "None that I've seen. He could have some, somewhere." My voice trailed off.

"I'm confused. Why do we think this will help?" He rubbed his face with his hands. "Look, we can't chase down every rabbit trail we find. We don't have that kind of time."

"No, I know that. But this might be the real deal. I sent the files over to the professor. He's researching them as we speak. While he's doing that, I'm trying to run down other angles. It's just…everything I'm finding is vague. If that tablet's real, it's the closest thing to a name tag that we've got."

He sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Right. I guess we wait, then." His fingers drummed out a rhythm on the tabletop.

I turned the laptop back towards me. My eyes were exhausted, but we needed information. I sat up straight, stretched my arms, rubbed my eyes, and went back to the files. If Sumer was our best lead, I needed to know more about it. The internet is probably my best friend. Well, the most informative, anyways. I opened up half a dozen more windows, these teeming with facts about the civilization. Geography, natural resources, religion, language—I was kind of surprised at how much information there was. I'm a quick reader, but I wasn't going to be able to slog through this on my own. "Hey. We should go to the library. Get you on a computer, too. Maybe they'll have some older texts."

"Fine by me. Let's go." He was at the door before I'd even shut the laptop. He may be a jerk sometimes, but he doesn't shy away from the work that needs to be done. That and I'm pretty sure he was bored. There wasn't a Magic Fingers in this place and the picture on the TV was mostly snow. I shoved the laptop into my bag, grabbed the charger and my cell, and went out to the car.

The library was a little over ten minutes from the motel. Ten minutes of Van Halen's _Hot for Teacher_. Yeah. It was a long ride. He hadn't even put the car in park when I opened the door and got out. I heard him laughing behind me as I crossed the parking lot. To be honest, I didn't mind it. He was stressed. We both were. His car and his music let him forget for a while and that was a good thing. I smiled to myself, careful not to let him see as he met me at the door. Things would be all right. We'd figure out what this was and handle it like we always did.

A sharp whistle and a slap to the back of my head pulled me out of my thoughts. He looked at me like he was just as surprised as I was, then shrugged and walked inside. Jerk moment. I followed him to a back corner of the library where we quickly set up our research station. Within minutes, he was combing through history books and I was poring over websites. Neither of us had much luck. After four hours, we had uncovered nothing that fit the pattern. I had just closed my eyes to give them a rest when my cell rang.

"Hello…Yeah…You did?" I kept my voice low, covering my mouth with one hand in an attempt to muffle the sound. "Okay…Sure…Uh huh…That sounds…Oh…Right…No, nothing…Thanks…Bye." I hung up and looked across the table.

"What was that?" He asked, his eyes on mine. "Please tell me it's useful."

"Well, sort of." Useful? Yes. Encouraging? No.

"Come on! Remember? Time's a-wasting."

This was going to be…fun. "We've got a name."

Both of his hands shot up, like he was declaring a personal touchdown. "This is good. Who is it?"

"It's Enlil."

His expression went from victory to confusion. "Who?"

"Enlil. He's a…uh…he's a Sumerian god, Dean."

The confusion was replaced with dismay. "Oh. That's bad, Sammy."


	2. Castiel and Crowley

There are few things that give me pleasure. Most of those revolve around the humans whom I protect. Seeing them safe, healthy, happy—these take me as close to joy as is possible for one of my kind. What I was about to do would not make them happy, but it would ensure their safety and well being. That would have to be enough. In time, they would see, they would understand that this was the only way.

"You called?" Were spite a tangible thing, it would have dripped like saliva from the mouth that spoke. "It's rude to invite someone for a chat and then bind them hand and foot, you know."

"It is a precaution only."

"Like I said. Rude."

I watched him, his true form rippling beneath the surface of his vessel. If I could see the tenuous hold he held, the way the human skin stretched itself to near transparency, what could he see of me? Did my grace look to him as his corruption did to me? I closed my eyes for a moment and looked inward. I saw a million stars born in glory and die in splendor; I saw the planets formed and set on their courses; I saw the first man take his first step; I saw hatred ravage this world and kindness rebuild it. I heard His Word. I felt His Hand. But I did not see me. Could he? My eyes opened to find him watching me with great interest.

"Pleasantries aside, what do you want? I assume there's a reason you've summoned me here…on your own...without those little pets of yours."

"They are not my pets."

"Damn. I have a sort of role-dyslexia, mix things up. Constantly embarrassing myself."

I tilted my head and squinted at him. Perhaps if I looked deeper within him I would better understand him. Such vision was futile on humans. At least, I had never succeeded at it.

He rolled his eyes and thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants, muttering to himself. "And you lot are the ones they choose to revere. No wonder this place is such a mess." His gaze returned to me and his voice was louder, sharper. "Oi! Get on with it. I've got places to be, things to do, yada yada yada."

I nodded, more out of determination than agreement. "As you say. You have not left behind your former title, correct?"

One of his eyebrows arched sharply upwards. "Former? There is no _former_." A wide grin played across his face. "I am as I have ever been."

"Then I have a proposition for you."

Both of his eyebrows shot upwards this time. "You want to—nah. You're having a bit of fun for a change, aren't you? Simple. Cute. But I have to say it's an improvement on your generally dull character. Good first try. I'll be off now."

"This is not fun. I believe it to be quite the opposite."

"You mean it. You're serious." He let out a derisive laugh. "I deal in souls, mate. Living, human souls. There's nothing in you that I want or need."

This was unexpected. Had I misjudged this creature and his ambition? "Do not be so quick to deny me. It is true, I have no soul with which to barter. I am not human. But therein lies the value of my offer."

"Hold on a minute. Don't get to thinking that you're something special. As we've both said, you have no soul. You're not Michael or Raphael. You're not Captain of the Host. You're a peon. Face it. You've got bugger-all to trade."

"My grace, alone, is sufficient. It could fuel a thousand rituals. It has the potential to become a weapon the likes of which you have never known. If this fails to sate your lust, consider this: Before my current appointment, I guarded the gates of Heaven. Their locks and wards hold no mystery for me. The names of the prophets are graven into my being, as are the names of my brethren." I allowed a portion of my true shape to escape the confines of my vessel. Light filled the body, streaming from its orifices and forcing the imprisoned entity before me to shield his eyes. There was a rush of air as my wings unfurled and stretched towards the heavens. When I spoke, it was not with the voice of my mortal frame. The earth shook, thunder rolled on the back of unseen lightning in the clear night sky, discarded glass bottles shattered into dust, and a mighty wind descended that turned the nearby river into a churning sea. "Reconsider."

He had to shout to be heard above the cacophony. "Enough! You've made your point." As I sank back into my vessel, he shook his head and opened his mouth widely several times over. "Bloody angels. You never do anything in moderation. All right. Fine. What is it you want in return for all of this? Immunity? Power? Love?"

"We have a common enemy. I ask you to fight alongside us to end this threat."

"That seems—"

"I am not finished. You will protect my charges as I would. No harm is to come to them, be it by you, your servants, or our mutual foe. Swear to us your allegiance and your aegis for this battle, and I will give myself to you when the day is won. Are the terms agreeable?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and chewed his lower lip as his eyes searched my face. I could not tell if he found what he sought. "I'll agree to nothing as long as I'm bound like this."

This was it, then. I would release him and he would make his choice. What little faith I had left was spent on a weak prayer as I knelt on the ground and marred the sigil that held him. "Do not make me regret this, Crowley."

I had no sooner stood than his hands were about my neck, his thumbs pressed against the sides of my face at my ears and his fingers digging into the flesh on either side of my spine. "Come now, Castiel. I think that's a given. Shall we seal our little pact?"


	3. Bobby and Ellen

The two of us walked out onto the porch. Things were a bit tense inside, to say the least. I think we both needed the air. The sun was shining and, believe it or not, birds were chirping in the trees. I rolled my eyes and let out a wry chuckle. She turned to look at me, her expression a mixture of confusion and impatience. I knew that look. I gave it to the boys often enough.

"You gonna elaborate?" She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the railing.

"Just thinking about how the worst news comes on the best days." I shoved my hands in my pockets and shrugged.

"Well, it could be—" She shook her head and laughed. "No, it couldn't be, could it? Guess we've finally hit rock bottom."

I nodded in agreement. My face was grim, I'm sure. No other way for it to look after hearing all of that nonsense inside. "Wish I could say we haven't, but that would just be dumb hope."

She looked past me, through the window and into the room beyond. The kids were probably still arguing. Maybe they'd started looking through some of the books on my shelves. Like I said, dumb hope. "They don't see it, do they?" She pulled her gaze back to me. "They still think there's a way out of this one."

I moved to stand beside her, mimicking her stance but keeping my eyes on the planks of the porch instead of meeting hers. "To be honest, I think they do. They're a good bit smarter than we give them credit for. A good bit stupider, too, sometimes." I sighed and stared at the house. It wasn't much, falling apart in a few places and hanging on by a thread in others, but it was home. Demons, angels, ghosts, zombies—they'd all had their shot at this place and they'd all missed it. Knowing that you're looking at something for the last time tends to bring out the details, all the little things you missed even though you saw them every day. The blue paint was chipped and cracked, layers of dirt turning it to a bluish grey in some places. The door frame used to be white. Guess I should have gotten around to re-painting the house at some point. What would have been the point? I kept talking, like I was answering her but I knew I was just thinking out loud. "Sometimes it's the fighting that makes a battle worth it. You may know you're on the losing end, outnumbered, outflanked, outgunned. But if you can just fight, make it known that you're not okay with what's happening, that you've got a cause and you believe in it…well, maybe, just maybe, you can live with yourself for whatever time you've got left."

She didn't say anything. Neither did I. We stood there, two old hunters lost in our own thoughts. A ruckus inside snapped us both out of it. She went to the window, looked inside for a few seconds, then nodded matter-of-factly as she turned back towards me. "That's my girl."

I furrowed my brow and cocked my head a bit. Balls! Damn angel was rubbing off on me. "What is it?"

"Oh, she just threw a few books…and a knife…at Casanova. Nothing he can't handle."

I snorted at that. "I wouldn't be too sure. He's not used to girls who can fend for themselves. Probably at a complete loss if he's not playing the hero."

"Darlin', please. That ain't exactly particular to him. All of you are at a loss." Her smirk could have rivaled the Mona Lisa's.

"All of who?" I asked. I braced myself for a lecture on hunters and soldiers and the bloodlust that took them all in the end. Couldn't blame her for feeling that way, truthfully. Her husband had died bloody, most of her friends had, and she and her daughter were well on their way to following suit. That kind of pattern doesn't really endear you to the lifestyle. Somehow, though, we all stay in it. Funny, how that works.

"Men."

I watched her and waited for half a minute. "That's it?"

"That's enough, I'd think." Something in my face must have shown her that I was expecting a lot more than that. "What? Who'd you think I was talking about?"

"Uh…hunters. You know, saving the world, rescuing the damsel in distress."

She looked pointedly at me. "You trying to tell me you've got a hero complex?"

I did a double-take and went back over the conversation. Nothing really pointed to how the tables had turned. I've learned that there are times when it's best to go with the flow. This was one of those times. I shrugged and replied, "Me? Nah. You've heard the boys. I just sit here at home with my phones and my books. That's not exactly heroic behavior." I shook my head slowly. "Nope. I leave that for the whippersnappers." I gave her a small smile and half a shrug. That had sounded less pathetic in my head. I meant it to be funny. Amusing, at the least. Hell. Who was I kidding? In our circles, I may as well have been Methuselah. And—let's face it—only thing Methuselah is good for is research. Come here, vamp. Let me whack you with my cane. Hold still. It won't hurt. I chuckled at myself and wondered why I was the only one laughing.

She offered an explanation, by way of a punch. That fool woman drove her fist into my upper arm like she was having it out with a skin walker. I went through a few emotions, rapid fire: surprise, fury, homicidal intent, recognition, calm, frustration. Despite my best efforts to look at her in confusion, I glared at her. She was standing there, fists at her side and something like disappointment on her face. Her long hair was wavy, falling over her shoulders in heaps. It was brown, but I could swear there were times when it looked auburn or even tinged with blonde. Trick of the light, I guess. Her eyes were dark and held a world of hurt in them, though she did her best to hide it. There were little wrinkles around them, too, and at the corners of her mouth. I'd never really seen them before. In a moment, it was over and the pain in my arm brought the anger back. "What the hell, Ellen?"

"Don't do that." Her expression was soft but determined. "Don't tear yourself down. You've saved those boys countless times. Not just them. I'd bet every hunter out there owes his life and freedom to you in some way or other. You keep them out of jail, on the road, saving folks." Her eyes met mine. "You are a hero, Bobby Singer."


	4. Crowley and Gabriel

Have you ever seen madness? You know what it is, don't you? It's the apex of belief. It's the pervasive, all-consuming surety that what your mind thinks and what your heart feels is real. A madman is inflexible, devout. To cure madness, you must break either the mind or the heart. Me—I break both. Just to be on the safe side.

I noticed him, staring at me with calculating eyes. I sighed and addressed him without meeting his gaze. "Something you need to say, my fine, feathered friend?"

"Not a thing, frog face." He looked back down at the warehouse below us. "Except—" He drew in a short, sharp breath. "—what do you get out of this?"

I folded my hands behind my back and watched the progress of the Band of Brothers towards the derelict building. My expression was placid, stoic, even. "This mad plot to save the world? I thought that was obvious: Survival."

A snort escaped him as he suppressed a laugh. "Right. Because you couldn't get that with the big guy, lower case."

Of the entire Host, he was the last one I wanted by my side. There were times when I was certain he'd been adopted by the Big Guy (upper case) and that he belonged with me and my kind. Too wily for one of them. If anyone could figure out my little agenda, it would be him. I suppose it was fortuitous, then, that he was here now. Nip it in the bud, as it were. I rolled my shoulders and replied casually. "Nah. I don't think he likes me much."

"Aw. That's okay. _I_ like you." He moved to my side and draped an arm over my shoulder. I really do hate their touch. I straightened, shrugging off his arm. He affected an injured tone. "Oh, come on! Unrequited love is the worst." His arms crossed over his chest like the petulant child he was. Petulant and clever.

I turned my head, gracing him with my dashing smile. "Yeah, well, I'm not that easy, mate. Slow and steady wins the race."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Ugh. Fine. But we hit third base by morning or I'm out."

See what I mean? Adopted. I shook my head. "That's your idea of slow?"

"Are you kidding? That's a worst-case scenario." He gave me a look that oozed confidence. "I get to third before dessert. Regularly."

I scoffed and went back to ignoring him. Below us, the group of six split into groups of three. The warehouse was tall enough that I couldn't see the distant side, but I knew that half of a celestial garrison was also making their way towards the building. A few of my own soldiers were with them, though most of my force was here with me. We stood in a small clearing just at the edge of the tree line. Those who served me were scattered amongst the shadows; those who served my date were clustered together behind the two of us. One of my lackeys passed in front of me and gave me a quick nod. I do love it when a plan comes together.

"So…" His voice grated against my nerves. "…shall we join the ground forces, General? Not to rush you or anything, but we really don't have all night."

"Well, aren't I lucky, then?"

"Oh! You've wounded me to the quick." He grimaced, bringing his hand to his chest.

I wanted to tell him that there was more to come, that the phantom pain to which he alluded was the touch of a feather compared to the agony he would suffer, that he would beg for mercy as his vessel was mangled and his grace devoured. But I didn't. That would have been giving away too much too soon. Instead, I tittered dutifully. "A moment to gather my minions."

He glanced around the clearing then peered into the darkness between the trees. "Minions—they're never where you need them to be." His head canted to one side and his hand moved towards his hip at the pace of a speeding snail. Maybe I was meant to notice, maybe I wasn't.

Regardless, I nodded my agreement. My shoulder bumped his as I counted off fifteen paces to my left. When I stopped, I gave a high, rolling whistle. The area around me filled almost instantly with a division of demons and hellhounds, my own among them. Another, smaller troop waited a little ways away. I patted my hound on his head and looked over the group. Each of them had been chosen for this. They were slayers who savored the slaughter. A low chuckle escaped me as I nodded in the direction of the Heavenly contingent. The level of restraint my little assassins showed was quite remarkable. They practically strolled away from me. I reached out and grabbed one by the arm. He was riding—I wouldn't lie about this—a great, black wolf and, if it weren't for the raven's head atop his shoulders, could have passed for one of the shiny ones milling about behind me. The similarity made me quite happy. I grinned at him and stretched out my other hand, the moonlight reflecting off of a silver blade in my palm. He took it slowly with the hint of a question in the tilt of his head. I looked back towards our reluctant allies and prompted, "For the mouthy one." He nodded quickly before moving to join the others in the clearing.

"Any time now would be great." That high, grating voice was edged with unease. "Little brother's gonna be POed if we're late."

"Yes…he is." I raised a hand to shoulder level and snapped my fingers. Flames roared to life on the ground behind me and quickly spread outward, forming a fiery circle around the perimeter of the clearing.

"What the—holy fire? You double-crossing son of a bitch!" He was quiet for a second, but I was still able to hear him groan over the snarling of the hellhounds. His voice was lower when he next spoke, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. "You swiped it. Damn you. Damn you to the blackest depths of the hottest hell."

I laughed at that and spun around. "A bit late for that, Gabe, but A for effort. Now, I've got somewhere to be." I addressed my troops within the circle, "Have fun. Home before midnight." I turned away, waving good-bye as I did so.

"Crowley. When I get out of—" His shouts were drowned out by the howls of the hounds and the war cries of the demons as they fell upon the archangel and his fellows.

A few servants of Hell can help to cure madness. Loopholes aren't too bad, either.


	5. Dean and Castiel

He needed something from me. Hell, when didn't he? I looked him over. Not a scratch, not a speck of dirt—must have been hanging out with the heavenly host. Oh, wait. He wasn't with them anymore. I clenched my fists as I looked away from him. "What do you want?"

His deep voice sounded off somehow. Kind of thin. "Hello." I waited for the rest. None came.

"Well, glad we got that out of the way." I grabbed the old, short-barrel shotgun I'd just finished cleaning. Yeah, it crossed my mind. I knew it wouldn't hurt him, but I was pretty sure it'd make me feel a damn sight better. I talked myself out of it, though, and tossed the gun into the duffel on the bed. A few other weapons and trinkets were lying around. I made a show of packing them away, handling all of them more carelessly than I should have.

"You're angry."

My hand gripped the hilt of the knife. Must have picked it up a second ago. I stared at it for what felt like five full minutes. Memories are funny things. Seems like they always replay in slow motion. I broke my gaze and glanced at him. "Yeah, Captain Obvious. Job well done." I tucked the knife into the sheath on my belt and went back to cleaning up.

"I don't understand."

"No shit, Sherlock." I turned around, a few paper plates and a couple beer bottles in my hands. He had that dumb look on his face, the one I swear he stole from Nimoy. "Which part has you confused? The name-calling, the sarcasm, or the anger? I've got explanations for all three, not that it matters." I'll admit, there was plenty of defiance in me when my eyes met his. Must have been more than he was expecting, because he looked away pretty quickly.

"I don't-"

"Damn it! Don't say you don't understand. It's not an excuse." I whirled away from him, stomped over to the trash can, stuffed the bottles and plates inside it, and just stood there. Someone had stuck an AC/DC sticker to the side. _Highway to Hell_ started playing in my head. Hey, sometimes life does have a soundtrack.

"I know that I—" He paused and I could hear him taking a slow, almost ragged breath. "—I deserve your anger." Another rough breath. "I was wrong. So wrong." His words started coming quicker and, despite how pissed I was, I turned to face him again. He was staring at the ground, his shoulders drooped and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of that ridiculous coat. "It wasn't what I thought. None of it was. I thought I could help. I thought this would make things better. I thought he would be honorable."

I stopped him there, snorting in disbelief. "Honorable? You thought he'd be honorable? Give me a break. You know what he is and who he is. There is no way you walked into this thing wearing blinders that you didn't put on yourself." I glared at him. My blood pumped through me like liquid fire. Sweat beaded on my forehead. It felt like I would explode if I didn't do something. I did something. I punched the wall hard enough to dent and crack the drywall. Funny, but it didn't hurt so bad. I took a deep breath. "So, what did he get? It's not like you've got a soul to barter with. Celestial weapons? Keys to Heaven? Ah. I've got it. He just wanted your phone number, right? Let me guess. You want me to get it back. Tell him you're not crazy about being his bitch. Nice of you to—"

"Stop." The word was barely audible, but I could feel it. Seriously, there was a kind of buzzing sensation that started at the center of my chest and spread outwards. His voice was just above a whisper, "Please. Stop."

I saw him, then. I was still pissed; he was still an idiot. But I saw him. He was damn near scruffy. His hair was matted in some places, sticking out wildly in others. All of his clothes were wrinkled, like he'd slept in them or...something. He even had a thick growth of five o'clock shadow. He looked haggard, worn. I had never even seen him drowsy. This, though—he might as well have been sleep deprived. Whatever he'd been doing since I'd last seen him, it hadn't been a cakewalk. Son of a bitch.

I paced a little, rubbing my jaw with my hand. This was crazy. He'd screwed up. I shouldn't feel sorry for him. Yet here I was trying to figure out what to say to him. I got your back? Seemed cliche. What would Clint Eastwood do? Hell, this wasn't getting me anywhere. "Cas…"

For a few seconds, everything got quiet. The dog that had been barking for three hours shut up; the couple who'd been going at each other's throats for fifteen minutes shut up; the damn crickets shut up. I started looking around. Silence like that is never right. It's never good. I pulled the knife from its sheath, palming the hilt, the blade resting against my arm. Salt, guns, dead man's blood, silver—most of it was in the bag on the bed. Things that go bump in the night don't tend to announce themselves, so it's a good idea to have a little of everything on hand. I took a step towards the bed.

It sounded like slow thunder and rushing water, a huge sound that filled the room in the blink of an eye. A massive, dark hole had formed and pieces of the room were falling into it, being sucked in. The small table and armchair were first, then the entertainment center and the TV. Everything was being eaten by this thing.

Everything except him. He stood there as furniture and garbage and clothes flew past him. His hands weren't in his pockets any more. They were at his side, clenched and white-knuckled. He was straining. Against what I couldn't tell. I felt my feet slip and grabbed at the wall, trying to find a handhold. I don't get frantic, but I was real close to it then. He was still, though, in the middle of all that. It wasn't easy for him, but he didn't move. His face looked like one of those strongmen who's pulling a truck uphill by his ear or his teeth. He was fighting for all he was worth.

He looked up, found me hugging the wall, and held my gaze. I caught the flicker of emotion in his eyes. He was hurt. I saw the tension fall from him in layers. He was angry. I heard his shoes scrape against the remnants of the floor. He was sorry.

"Dean—"


End file.
